The Tournament [A Non-Traditional Fantasy]

One of the attendants approached the young couple. "Mr. Distingue and Ms. Impel, allow me to guide you to your seats."

The more quiet atmosphere was much appreciated, and with Liederkranz and Poetaster off prepping for their fights, the contestants booth was much more subdued. Picayune checked the other seats, as usual he was the last to arrive and he was nervous to see that he was the only one to have capitalized on the plus one benefits. It reminded him that there was a difference between himself and a proper Tournament contestant. These were people whose entire lives were combat. He was a child pretending.

The Animal stood upfront, forepaws mounted on the railing excitedly watching the crowds. Its tail wound all throughout the belvedere and still its tip, tucked in a corner, wagged happily. The Game stood next to the otherworldly creature, flinging popcorn and catching it with his mouth while he enjoyed the show. The Topiary was off in the furthest back seat with his eyes closed, fruit basket taking the seat at his side. The mokoi queen, Arete, sat one row in front of the Topiary buried under her many layers of garments. The blank porcelain mask mounted on her face fixed the queen in her seat like an inanimate figurine. Lastly, The Vampire lounged at the left-most, shadowed side of the belvedere, ordering different wines from the servants and then promptly sending them back without tasting any.

The Vampire noticed Picayune walking by, a cheshire smile revealed monstrous fangs and the fiend gave him a wave. Picayune was very happy that his seat was stationed on the opposite, illuminated side of the belvedere. Their attendant guided the two further and as he approached their seating, peering over the platform's railing, Picayune's breath was stolen away.

The domed arena was so vast the fog of distance settled before reaching its opposing end. At the very top, the arena's solarium window was curtained with a dark tarp casting the arena in a dull warm glow. From the seams of the curtain, a rainfall of wine sprinkled onto the grounds. Tier upon tier of seating climbed the walls in an unbroken sweep, eager viewers reaching their goblets out to catch what drink they could from the rained beverage. Every seat was full yet still more people bustled on the periphery. It was the largest crowd Picayune had ever seen.

The scale of it was staggering, yet what struck him most was knowing that even this impossible throng was only a portion of the audience. Around the arena's rim, arrays of incalescent fire repeaters glimmered, each manned by TOIL staff and ready to capture the fight and broadcast it to fireboxes scattered across Trammel.

It struck Picayune again that he was more than just 'legit famous' now. This wasn't just the once-in-a-century, divinely ordained, prestigious Tournament; it was going to be the first Tournament ever filmed and recorded to be remembered for all of history. He wasn't just going to be a warrior for the history books, he was going to become an I.F. star, a household name like Poetaster already was.

At center stage, five effigies of the previous Tournament winners were mounted in a circle.

The first, grown from quartz in jagged spires of cloudy crystals depicted the hulking form of Schizo, 'The Spearhead'. His black onyx spear held high and splitting the fall of wine. His fate since winning, never known.

The second, a hollow of hardened silk in the shape of a man, his back ripped open and four plumes of golden wings unfurled like a moth freed from its chrysalis, depicted the angelic Ultraist, 'The Ashbearer'. Now commonly known as the Tournament Director, Throne.

The third, a mould of solidified slag, the movements of still roiling lava perceptible through the seams of the rockwork depicted a monstrous lizard on all fours with leviathan wings and snarling fangs, Yen, 'The Dragon'. Known in modern times, with an extra limb, as the three-armed dragon and in myth as the primordial Dragon of Power.

The fourth, a simple wooden caricature of a seven armed beast set aflame, The Mokoi Khan, 'The One'. It was the sole effigy mounted upside down, weak and failing. A regular parade of thrown trash from the audience hurled its way over.

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Lastly, carved from meteorite, was the statue of a dark humanoid figure with a speckling of gemstones like starlight across its body depicting the champion of the fifth centennial Tournament: The Noumenon. The only winner to ever be reinvited to the Tournament.

Encircled within the effigies stood Dionysus and the first two contestants accompanied by an entourage of performers. The performers flowed through in an unending funnel, out one entrance, curving through the center and out another exit, providing a short one minute show of their unique talent. Dionysus laughed the performances along, a goblet held high collecting rain wine. Off to one side of Dionysus, Liederkranz worked over a towering rack crammed full of dozens of instruments, from brass trumpets, to gargantuan drums. She used her few remaining moments to ensure each instrument was properly tuned. Poetaster stood to Dionysus's other side, lips moving faintly rehearsing for the upcoming event.

A calm 'sir' brought Picayune's attention back to the belvedere as the attendant gestured to the seats designated for him and Belabor. Picayune hesitated as he caught the motionless stature of the mokoi queen sitting directly behind; her expressionless, porcelain visage not registering their presence. Picayune had the uncomfortable feeling their presence wasn't worth registering.

He was more than happy to take his seat, if only so that he no longer had to look at that unsettling mask. Plopping down into the soft cushions, they nearly sunk into its seams and granted their feet delightful rest. The usher ignored their sighs of relief and clasped her hands "Any refreshments or concessions?"

Picayune's eyes were already lulling shut within the seat cushions, so Belabor took the lead. "We get concessions?"

"Of course, Madam. The full amenities will be provided to our contestants and their guests. Dionysus will do anything in his power to provide for your needs."

Belabor preened at the special treatment. "In that case we'll have some salted potato wedges to share." She gave Picayune a teasing nudge. " And I'll have a… white wine please, whichever you'd best recommend. And Picay will get a chocolate milk."

Picayune jolted from his stupor with panic, eyes darting to the Vampire and back. "I'll have the wine!"

Belabor gave him a befuddled look, "You hate wine."

Picayune replied far too quickly. "No, I don't." Out of the corner of his eyes, Picayune noticed a shift in the still mask behind him. He stuttered awkwardly before addressing the usher directly. "Uh-uhm, two glasses for the wine please."

There was some stifled laughter and a third voice interjected "And some chocolate milk for the group of us while you're at it."

The attendant bowed and walked off as the young couple turned to see the Game smiling at them. He wasn't too much older than them, early twenty perhaps. His shock of bright red hair stood out, messy and unkempt. "There's no need for postering around here, kid. The Chauffer gave you an invitation and that should be proof enough that you deserve to be here. And for those that think you're still nothing but a kid; well, ordering wine isn't going to change their opinions."

Picayune blushed with embarrassment. "Thanks… I guess."

"No worries, kid. Have you seen the arena grounds yet?"

"Yeah… When I was setting up the runework for Poetaster and Liederkranz's pregame show. It's Picayune by the way."

The Game took a sip from his glass of red wine and smiled. "Maybe when you start drinking alcohol, kid." Picayune frowned and The Game barked a laugh. "But I mean, have you seen the arena when it's full? It is crazy out there. I've seen my fair share of festivals, but I've never seen anything like this."

Picayune turned back to the arena, unable to take in its entirety from a single angle. "Its hard to even process everything."

The three shared in some small talk and eventually the attendant returned with the wine, chocolate milk, and a paper bag marked with grease stains. Picayune and Belabor picked at their potato wedges watching the ebb and flow of the crowd as they waited for the event to commence. Somehow, more people kept filtering in despite the seats already having filled. The two simply took in all that indecipherable chatter humming about the energized air, enjoying the fevered atmosphere. While the early day star crept higher in the sky Liederkranz fussed over her instruments, Poetaster mumbled over their lines, Dionysus clapped on more performers parading across the arena floors, and Picayune's wine glass went unused.

By late morning, the day star reached its peak and without warning, the solarium curtains were drawn back. A flash of light blinded all onlookers. With the solarium window open, the day star descended from the heavens like a laser.

There was a pause of silence as the audience gawked, holding for but a moment before a downpour of the remaining wine, let loose from the opening solarium curtain, crashed onto the audience raising an uproarious cheer.

The Tournament was starting.